


Love finds you worthy

by nerdy-flower (baconnegg)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A little angsty though, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Asexual Hanzo, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Genji and Zen are poly, Get-Together Fic, Hanzo drags himself but gets a happy ending anyway, I might write a fic about them too, I think I wrote an asexual romcom?, Intimacy, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Trans Male Character, Writing out my ace feelings through fic, autistic Hanzo, brothers being brothers, demi Jesse, so many quarters in the Hanzo drama jar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23798215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconnegg/pseuds/nerdy-flower
Summary: Hanzo has a job, a routine, and a slowly-rekindling relationship with Genji, he doesn't need anything else. He can't have anything else. Jesse McCree, without intending to, proves him completely wrong.
Relationships: Background Genyatta, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 150





	Love finds you worthy

**Author's Note:**

> cw for internalized acephobia, alcohol use, and unrelated brief self-harm reference

Hearing Genji's voice is jarring, but Hanzo still spends an hour sitting beside an outlet when his phone battery runs down. 

“I couldn't believe it when Jack held up your resume and asked if we were related.” Genji's chuckle echoes roughly down the line. “I had no idea you were this close, I thought you went out East.” 

“I did, for a while.” Hanzo runs his fingers through his hair for the eighty-seventh time that evening. “Do you- want me to visit? For a drink or something?” 

“Well, you'll be moving here soon, right?” A beat passes. “I put in a good word for you. You've basically got it, Jack said he can't even find someone else with payroll experience.” 

Likely because a non-profit couldn't pay what most people with his degree were looking for, but it certainly paid more than temp jobs and weekends as a bank teller. One video interview and a few weeks later, he bids the Pacific ocean goodbye and drives inland, fingers tight on the rental van's steering wheel as he wonders what the hell he's thinking. 

Hanzo tells himself he's doing something good for a change, something useful. And there is much to be said for an office of his own and not worrying about his sleeve riding up. But sitting and typing away upstairs while Genji dresses wounds and distributes food, needles, and condoms downstairs is a neat, ironic summary of who they have turned out to be. 

He keeps his head down, makes quick work of the ramshackle mess of the accounts, and takes a subtle pleasure in using the labelmaker. He eats lunch at his desk and heads home promptly to unpack and arrange his minimal possessions. He recognizes that he's cutting an indifferent, unwelcoming figure on a deeply passionate staff, but it can't be helped. He's here to do what is necessary, nothing more. 

“Didn't Jack tell you it's business casual here?” Genji asks, flu shot in his gloved hand while Hanzo unbuttons his shirt cuff. 

“I am casual,” Hanzo replies, not even wincing at the quick pass of an alcohol pad and kitten-scratch poke of the needle. “I'm not wearing a jacket.” 

Genji snorts and shakes his head. “I'm taking you to buy some jeans.” 

Even in plain scrubs, leaning heavily on his forearm crutch with scars slicing up his stubbly jaw, Genji retains his sparkle from when they were young. Effortlessly friendly, a tireless revenant, now tempered with an almost unsettling calm. Hanzo quietly envies how comfortable Genji is with himself- bold and ineffable in his casual dress, madly in love with his fiancé, and unashamed of the lovers they prioritize in their shared life. 

He assumes the scruffy vet tech that arrives alongside Jack's husband each Friday to tend to their clients' pets is one of them, judging by how his brother greets him with a fierce hug. That unavailability makes it safer to admire how handsome he is while he pours his coffee. Genji has good, if unique taste. 

The conference room next to his tiny office serves as a makeshift operating theatre one afternoon when a client's cat struggles to give birth and won't last the drive to the actual clinic. Which is fine by Hanzo until McCree bursts in with a washcloth clutched to his chest. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but we need more hands.” His low voice is somewhat muted by a surgical mask as he thrusts the sticky, bundled kitten into Hanzo's hands. “Rub 'er till she cries and keep her warm, we're trying to save the mom.” 

“I- what?” Hanzo can barely form the word before Genji's friend disappears. His mind all static, he manages to rub the barely-alive fuzzy creature until it lets out a desperate, healthy cry. He isn't really clear on what else to do so he just encloses it safely in his hands until McCree's eventual return. 

“Sorry about that.” He smiles, mask and gloves gone, smelling of the cheap bulk soap they stock throughout the building. “Shit went sideways and I didn't wanna run downstairs and cause a commotion. How's she doin'?” 

“Fine.” Hanzo blinks, grateful to pass the wriggling responsibility back. “Did the mother make it?” 

“Yep! Saved 'em all, I call that a win.” McCree holds the kitten up on his prosthetic hand, booping its impossibly tiny pink nose and chuckling as it mews. “Thanks again, I owe you a drink sometime.” 

Genji's friend leaves, brown hair clipped back in a short ponytail, and Hanzo comes back down incrementally. In his mind, he takes a piece of chalk and makes a single mark in his own favour. 

A Friday night with his brother and McCree at a second-rate pub isn't his preferred way to spend his time, not even because nurses and vet techs both seem to lack a filter in what's appropriate to discuss over food. Staying sober is hard, staying sober around Genji is nearly impossible. The prospect of getting drunk in front of him and a stranger-slash-colleague is a calamity he barely avoids. 

**GS:** Sorry about tonight, I should have known it would be packed. You ok? 

Hanzo sighs, pausing the unsolved murder documentary he's zoned out in front of to answer. That was the other half of the problem, the one Genji knows about. The cacophony of music and celebratory bar-hoppers made it almost impossible to process anything, so he spent most of the evening nodding. McCree kept looking at him expectantly and Hanzo would look over at Genji instead, letting him carry the conversation. 

**HS:** I'm fine, just tired. 

**GS:** Lol same tbh, maybe we're too old for that place. Wanna go for lunch next time? 

Hanzo tacitly agrees, knowing McCree won't be interested in a next time. Weighty and changed as it might be, there is a familiarity he can't deny in time spent with just his brother. Genji knows him, and doesn't expect what he can't offer. 

But McCree, unfortunately, does. 

“Workin' late?” He asks, Stetson already on his head as the sun sits low in the sky beyond Hanzo's blinds. 

Hanzo nods, waiting for his computer to finish its twenty-third update. “The annual report waits for no one. I'm doing my future self a favour.” 

“Not a bad idea.” McCree slips his phone from his jacket pocket. “Joanne sent me some pictures, that's the little one you saved.” 

The kitten now has eyes peeped open, a black patch spreading across its white face. “Oh, I'm so glad they're doing well.” 

“No kidding, I kinda want one but mine might get jealous.” McCree grins, shifting his backpack onto his shoulder. “You got something to eat while you're here?” 

He shrugs. “I'll get dinner on the way home, it shouldn't take that long.” 

“Alrighty, take care of yourself, then.” He leaves with a wave, and Hanzo wonders why he bothered coming all the way upstairs for nothing. But then, he seems very fond of Genji, and ingratiating yourself to your lover's siblings isn't such a bad strategy. 

Running into McCree alone at a dive bar ought to be awkward, yet the cowboy-cosplayer simply slides onto the stool next to his as if it's inevitable. Asks him what he's drinking and tries some himself, keeps the conversation light and minimal. Hanzo holds his eyes on the man's mouth when they step outside for a smoke,- a trick he learned years ago to mimic eye contact -watching that half-dimmed smile, the way his full lips wrap around a cigarillo. They ask nothing of each other, at first, but Hanzo finds himself accepting a hand up when the hour grows too late. 

Week after week, they find themselves in that same spot. Hanzo doesn't mind, drinking alone feels especially pathetic, and he recognizes haunted when he sees it. Neither of them dare to ask what brings the other here, but Hanzo is certainly curious. Impressed, even, when he returns to his boisterous self in time for Genji to drag them on Saturday outings to food truck festivals and the only good ramen place in town. 

“How often d'you go to the gym? You could kill somebody with those arms.” 

Hanzo laughs perhaps a little too long, swishing the ice in his glass. “Ah, only two or three times a week now. I have to transfer buses and I don't always make the effort.” 

“That's all?” Jesse balks, bouncing one foot against the barstool. It's terribly distracting but Hanzo isn't about to say anything. “I gotta go with you sometime, pick up some pointers.” 

Hanzo half-smiles back and makes some non-committal answer. There's such a thing as trying too hard. 

He finally accepts an invitation to his brother's apartment when he runs out of excuses. His discomfort is mitigated by the movies Genji queues up for them, giving them something else to focus on while his fiancé packs. Zenyatta is impossible to dislike- soft-spoken and persistently kind, frequently brushing willowy fingers against Genji's arm with unmistakable affection. Only after they finish kissing each other goodbye does Hanzo ask where he's going. 

“To Akande's cottage, for a whole week.” Genji sighs, slumping in his oversized athleisure and shaking a bottle of pale pink polish. “I don't know what I'm gonna do. Baptiste is working straight evenings and dating apps are like dumpster diving.” 

“A tragedy.” Hanzo murmurs, shifting in place as the film resumes. “Why don't you invite McCree over? He works the same hours you do, right?” 

“Yeah, but we don't fuck.” Genji's tongue peeps out as he begins painting his nails. “Maybe I'll call Angela. She's usually down for a cuddle, at least.” 

The news that the freckled man with the kind smile and the faraway eyes who drinks with him in non-judgmental silence isn't dating his brother doesn't affect Hanzo at all. Why would it? 

The man splits desserts with him, subtly makes room for him on the couch when they return to Genji's cozy flat for video games, and ambles to the bus stop with him if they finish their work at the same time. He listens, he tells good stories- but ultimately, it must be for Genji's benefit. As hard as his brother is trying to drag Hanzo into the better life he's made for himself, his initial mentions of him couldn't have been complimentary. 

It certainly isn't for Hanzo's benefit. No one goes out of their way for cranky, antisocial alcoholics. 

“You must really love animals,” Hanzo remarks during one of his watered-down attempts at conversation in the basement bar. “To do what you do.” 

“Well, that and Gabe said I better get a job that pays more than pennies.” McCree chuckles, plucking a limp fry from the basket they're sharing. “It's not always great, we have to put some down almost every day, but I was born on a farm so I'm a little more used to that side of things. Some of the young kids I went to class with couldn't take it.” 

Hanzo hums, unsurprised. It's past midnight, and the edges of his mind are turning fuzzy. “Did you enjoy it? Growing up in the country?” 

“Oh yeah, I still miss it.” McCree crunches loudly on an ice cube, fist folded beneath his chin. “Warm and dry all year 'round, flat enough so you could see all the way to the red canyons. Our property wasn't huge, just enough to feed us and sell the rest. Had some real nice horses, though.” 

Hanzo finds himself trying to picture it, staring down at the scratched-up grain of the counter. His head twitches up when McCree speaks again. “What was home like for you?” 

His tongue strains to articulate his memories of Hanamura. A small village, high up on a hill, awash with cherry blossoms in the spring. His whole universe when he was small and naive, he thought it was beautiful. “I miss it greatly.” 

Jesse nods, his voice rough with drink. “I would too.” 

They talk far too long that night, deep into their bottles and too honest. Though it's cold, they opt to walk to Hanzo's apartment rather than wait for the last bus. Hanzo drank faster and of a stronger proof, combining with the hypoplasia that's caused pain in his calves all his life and leaving him unsteady. Jesse holds him up, but the slippery concrete stairs up to his back door are more challenging. 

They're nearly at the top when Hanzo plants one foot on a patch of ice and gravity takes over. He barely registers what's happening before Jesse grabs him and hauls him up, Hanzo's face colliding with his collarbone. They stand there a moment catching their breath, Hanzo surrounded by the warmth of Jesse's chest. He hasn't been held since he was a child. 

“Fucking hell, that was close.” Jesse exhales, helping him up the last step onto the stability of the landing. “You alright?” 

Hanzo's brain is suddenly overloaded. Words do not come easily. “I'm so tired.” 

“That's why I'm tryin' to get you to bed!” Jesse laughs and pats his shoulder. “C'mon, you didn't lose your keys, did you?” 

Hanzo mechanically opens the door and lets himself be helped to bed, unable to worry about the state of his apartment or the disarray of his unmade sheets. 

“You're shakin'.” Jesse's tone turns suddenly serious. He kneels beside Hanzo's bed and takes his pulse, shines his keychain flashlight obnoxiously in his eyes, and helps him onto his side, one arm beneath his head. “I'm gonna crash on your couch, if that's alright.” 

“No, don't- you have to-” Hanzo's slurred, stumbling words don't help his case. Jesse simply tugs a blanket over him and leaves the door cracked open on his way out. 

Come morning, Hanzo lurches to the bathroom with a pounding in his head and bile in his throat. He looks like reheated death, but finds himself following the scent of fried food into the kitchen. Jesse stands at his stove in his undershirt and jeans, hair flattened on one side and sticking up on the other. He yawns, jaw popping loudly. “You hungry, Mister Hangover? I'm makin' omelettes.” 

Hanzo's bleary eyes catalogue the bullet grazes and knife wounds littering Jesse's thick upper arms and shoulders. Gingerly, he nods. 

He spends days upon days denying the colour that seeps into his world every time Jesse enters his thoughts, his office, or their corner of the bar. The more tales they trade, the more baffled he is. How can a man who has known such violence, survival-based circumstances that Hanzo's young, princely arrogance never imagined, hang on to the best parts of himself? What makes him deem Hanzo worthy of his free time, let alone his generosity? 

And yet, he doesn't dare refuse their nights alone, when the indifferent city stars fall around them like snowflakes. 

At home while he paces back and forth, coming down from the day, the cowboy interrupts his circular thoughts. But he's an adult, he can forget this. He can get over the lightness he feels as he rides to work on Friday mornings, the faint flutter in his chest when Jesse touches his shoulder, how unnecessarily happy he is when Jesse presents him with a small snowglobe from Las Vegas to break up the dull sterility of his desk. 

He has to, because he can never be the man Jesse deserves. 

If only he and Genji were dating after all, that would be best. Genji is open in his affections, low-maintenance in temper these days, and cackles endlessly at their long list of inside jokes. It would so easily eliminate the 'if' from Hanzo's mind. 

Genji is also the one to foil the truce he's made between himself and his impossible desires. At the staff holiday party, he and Angela conspire to set Hanzo and Jesse up under some mistletoe. Jesse's willing to laugh it off, his cheeks flushed, but Hanzo feels compelled to inform his brother it isn't funny. In private, because he is trying. Genji rolls his eyes over the rim of his drink, exasperated by the lecture. “Wow, someone needs to get laid.” 

Hanzo disappears for the night. It's petty and ridiculous, but it burns through him all the same. 

Jesse says nothing, follows through with their plan to brave the mall crowds together the next day and pick up a few remaining gifts. He patiently trails behind Hanzo in stores he has no interest in and on their way home purchases Hanzo's favourite latte without asking. Only when they reach his back stairs and Jesse asks if he might come in for a drink does Hanzo read between the lines. 

To borrow a phrase from the cowboy himself, he's about as useful as a glass hammer when it comes to things like this. “I don't think that's such a good idea.” 

The words are stiff and accompanied by a grimace, but Jesse doesn't quite get it, still smiling. “Maybe another time, then?” 

Hanzo shakes his head briefly, lips tight. “No, but thank you, for today.” 

Jesse expression falls, belying confusion. “Ah, alright. See ya next week, then.” 

Hanzo barely lifts his hand before the cowboy turns and heads back down the alley, shoulders stiff against the wind. 

Upstairs, he sets his bags in a corner of his closet-sized bedroom and leaves them unopened. Curtains drawn, he lets himself pace until his shins burn. He silently counts off the reasons it wouldn't have worked. All that he can't offer a partner. How his life and routine leave no space for another person. That he's comfortable, self-sufficient, and trying to do right by his brother, and that's enough. It will have to be enough. 

Monday rolls around, along with Genji taking up residence in his office during his lunchbreak. “So, what happened with you and Jesse?” 

Hanzo furrows his brow over his laptop. “What are you talking about?” 

“You kinda blew him off?” Genji's mouth pulls to one side. “You've been flirting for weeks, what did he say?” 

“I didn't- we weren't _flirting.”_

Genji simply stares at him, loudly draining his iced coffee. 

Hanzo draws in a long, tired breath through his nose. “I'll speak with him.” 

“You better,” Genji threatens lightly, returning to his leftovers that smell like they didn't spend long enough in the microwave. “At least let him down with a reason, he's one of the better ones.” 

He gathers his dignity by lunch the next day, offering an apology and an explanation over a coffee after work. Jesse agrees, though there's periods in his texts where he never used them before. A bad sign. 

Hanzo keeps a hand jammed in his jacket pocket while they order, reflexively stimming with a paperclip. He learned early not to fiddle with things out in the open, lest they be plucked from his fingers. As long as he has that small outlet, he can offer more than stilted silence. 

They find a table tucked beside the vestibule of the café. Jesse is bundled up against the cold, coat still buttoned as if he's not staying long. Hanzo takes a lengthy sip of his americano to buy time. “I am sorry for last week, I- didn't wish to mislead you.” 

“Nothin' wrong with that,” Jesse replies with an unimpressed frown. “But if you wanted to just be friends, you could've been a little nicer about it.” 

“Yes, well, it's not-” He trails off, the truth burning in his throat. He's thought of Jesse's embrace every day, dreamt of it at times. The harder he fights it off, the stronger the intrusive thoughts grow, as usual. Mortifying as it is, the thought of knowing his willing tenderness leaves Hanzo exposed, vulnerable- 

“Oh for-” Jesse's irritated tongue-click snaps him out of his thoughts. “Don't play games, alright? Let's just forget-” 

“I'm asexual,” tumbles out of Hanzo's mouth before he can bite it back, his words turning crisp. “I didn't want to disappoint you, I apologize.” 

It's only one of a few fundamental flaws, but certainly the presenting problem. He's tried, with many partners, to fuck value and maturity into himself but it never came and neither did he. He can maintain a facade temporarily, focus on his partner's pleasure, but they soon catch on. When things fell apart, he was at the very least, freed from expectations. No one asked if he was getting any, save the occasional easily-dispatched creep in a bar. 

He named it while lurking in online forums, passing empty hours. The truth undeniable, he doesn't dare waste anyone's time. Jesse deserves someone who will be passionate with him, who can show him just how desirable he is. At the very least, someone who can offer more than a lifetime of mistakes. 

A hum of surprise buzzes up from Jesse's throat, his posture straightening and arms sliding open. “Is that all? So am I.” 

A fax machine noise echoes through Hanzo's brain. He hadn't prepared for that answer. “Why was Genji trying to set us up, then?” 

“Oh, well, I'm not aromantic. I'm more like- demi, gray-ace, I dunno. ” Jesse takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee. “Does he know you're aro?” 

“Well, I'm not, but we don't-” The truth breaches Hanzo's lips again, unbidden and sober. “I don't discuss that sort of thing.” 

“Ah, I see.” He feels Jesse's eyes lingering on him. “Well, with that cleared up, do you wanna maybe give it a shot?” 

Hanzo is more confused than ever. Jesse takes it as hesitance, extending his hand palm-up. “Look, you don't owe me anything. I'm just saying, you're a better drinking buddy than most guys I've come across.” 

That smile is contagious, how awful. “As are you.” 

“So?” Jesse shrugs, knowing and patient. There's a boyish appeal to him, more than just his stupid handsome face. He's charming in the un-sarcastic sense of the word, subtly magnetic. “I already bought you a drink, maybe I could take you to dinner sometime? Your treat?” 

Hanzo laughs in spite of himself and drops his head, unable to answer anything but a foolish 'Yes.' 

The necessities of the holiday season delay them, but on a quiet evening Hanzo wears just a little eyeliner and Jesse picks out a place around the block from Hanzo's flat- inexpensive and filling, with plenty of empty pool tables. Hanzo hasn't played billiards since he was a teenager, but when Jesse presses up against his back to help angle his shot, he can't help but smirk. “You're going to have to get a little more creative than that.” 

Jesse snickers, playing off his blush. “Hey, I'm just trying to help, honest!” 

Hanzo is abysmal at flirting and worse at dating, but something has him convinced he should try. 

In anticipation, he had tidied his apartment. It's still dry and impersonal and furnished with the cheapest flatpack pieces he could find. The couch is more like a futon and far from comfortable, but it's there, beneath the shaded window, that Hanzo dares to kiss Jesse. The brush of whiskery, deliciously soft lips, the rich taste of smoke, the warm hand curled against his shirt- it's so much more than he deserves, but he's too selfish to release it. 

While he admires Genji and Zenyatta's rather masterful juggling of relationships, Hanzo could never be poly. Even while it offers a solution to the hamstring of his asexuality, he's far too jealous. And what did he have to offer that would keep a partner returning, if they could get what they wanted elsewhere? 

He still wonders that, even as their gloved fingers brush and intertwine. 

After spending New Year's with his brother and Zenyatta, Hanzo trudges back to work on the Friday, only to find a post-it tucked inside his lunchbag. _Hey handsome, you're doing great – xo_

Saccharine, perhaps, but it brings a smile to Hanzo's face that has him quietly shutting his office door to make sure no one sees. Emboldened, he slips one into Jesse's cigarillo case while he's in the washroom on their next date. _Your hair looks nice when it's down._

He spends four days periodically berating himself for not coming up with something better, until he finds another on his fridge. _You look so good when you laugh, it's not fair_

Hanzo snorts aloud to himself, and the game begins again. 

Jesse's apartment is metaphorically warmer, more comfortable, shared with his sister and a haughty calico. There he comes to learn that Gabe is more than his boss, though that's been the most consistent aspect of their relationship. “Do you think that Jack might take issue with-” Hanzo pauses, not wanting to presume too much by finishing with _'his employee dating his stepson?'_

“Oh pft, nah.” Jesse waves away the concern, setting the metal bowl on Hanzo's lap and settling in beside him. “He acts like a grouch, but he's a good guy. He's busted way too much ass in his life, that's why he hardly has any left.” 

Hanzo nearly chokes on his mouthful of popcorn, coughing and lightly jabbing Jesse in the chest. “You did that on purpose.” 

“Hey, I didn't come up with it.” Jesse grins, tapping around on the remote until the DVD player whirs to life. “You'll like this one, I think. This girl's one hell of an actor.” 

Hanzo doesn't quite appreciate the film to Jesse's extent, but he finds himself caught up in Jesse's enjoyment of it, and that feels much the same. 

He doubts Jesse takes as much enjoyment in his movie night rant on why not every Japanese sword is a katana and that the katana isn't even the best sword for every situation and yes, of course, samurai carried guns. Matchlocks were purchased from the Portuguese in the fifteen-hundreds and- 

Jesse's knuckles brush across his cheek so lightly that Hanzo stalls mid-sentence. “What is it?” 

He grins, brown eyes half-lidded and hazy. He must be so bored. “Nothin', you've got an expressive face, is all. S'cute.” 

“Do I?” Hanzo's brow knits in confusion. “I've always thought it was quite the opposite.” Or rather, he can't exactly tell what expression he's making unless he's in front of a mirror. There's a disconnect that he's never been able to mend. 

“Oh no, you can say a thousand words without even opening your mouth.” Jesse studies him, lips curving into a smirk. “Are you only now realizing how many faces you've made out loud?” 

“Maybe,” Hanzo snickers and glances off. It would certainly explain a few things. 

Jesse laughs without sounding mocking, his hand coming to rest on Hanzo's knee. “You said you had a collection, mind if I see it?” 

“It's only a few, hardly a collection.” Hanzo dismisses, thinking of the number on display in their familial halls. He wonders if they're even being properly cared for, now. But still he stands, leads Jesse to where his expensive indulgences rest on his bedroom wall and diligently explains each one. 

They do more than discuss swords, of course. Jesse McCree is an exceptionally good kisser, tender and attentive without showing off, hand caressing where it's wanted. The press of their bodies richer and more delicious than any dessert. Jesse is a treat to please in turn, making all sorts of soft, throaty noises as Hanzo learns him, lingers where he likes best. His scalp, his hips, along either side of his spine. 

There is beauty in the human form that Hanzo has never so thoroughly revelled in, perfection beneath plaid that he had scarcely let himself imagine. There is so much to explore. The way their scarred chests fit together, pebbled nipples catching and feeling so right against a palm. The stubbly curve of a neck and all the ways it can be loved. The way his broad hands stretch to grasp Jesse's shoulders, the handsome curve of his jaw, and the soft, hairy strength of his stomach. They make out like young men who think they've discovered something, and every touch sends fire curling through Hanzo's chest. 

Jesse's reticence in asking him to stay the night baffles him, as if he would rather lay anywhere but against the solid, warm nearness of him that leaves Hanzo nourished, but never sated. 

It is equal parts invigorating and tiring. The _want_ he feels yawns up from his chest and threatens to devour him. Chats with Jesse, over lunch or over text, are bright spots in his ordinary, functional life, prompting him to smile more often than not. But the inner monologue never ceases, reminding him not to be cold, dismal, or flat. Rattling against the back of his front teeth, almost whispered aloud, _don't leave yet._

Every ounce of willing, affectionate attention paid to him seems unbelievable. Hanzo keeps searching for the crack in the foundation, the loose thread that will unravel it all. The labels Jesse had used seem the most likely suspects, and Hanzo silently awaits the inevitable, when the cowboy grows tired of being teased. He's far too good to stay, so Hanzo relishes each day they spend together. 

Valentine's Day proves an unexpected challenge. Genji insists on accompanying him to the two-story north end mall and not a single store they enter has the right thing. The shirts are too ugly and uncomfortable, chocolate is far too generic, and everything else seems cheap and meaningless. “Forget it, let's go.” 

“Hanzo,” Genji tsks, smiling as he stands from the bench across from the stationary shop. “Why don't we get smoothies?” 

“I don't need a smoothie,” Hanzo glowers. Genji's back is probably killing him, he's dragged him halfway around this accursed place with nothing to show for it. “This is ridiculous, I'm being ridiculous.” 

“You're supposed to be ridiculous when you're in love.” Genji grins brightly at him, jabbing a finger into his cheek. God, he's obnoxious. Hanzo really missed that about him. “C'mon, inspiration's more likely to strike when you're not dehydrated.” 

Eventually he settles on a florist that's still taking custom bouquet orders through their website. Opening numerous tabs to research the meanings and drawing on what little he remembers of his father's ikebana lessons, he assembles camellias, roses, tulips, sprigged with green and tied with dark red ribbon. A card that reads 'Happy Valentine's Day,' signed with his name, because the previous five things he typed came off as too much or too little. 

Guarding the bouquet from the crush of bus passengers and the plodding wet snow is well-worth the look on Jesse's face when he answers the door, a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder. “Oh, jeez, no one's ever gotten me flowers before.” 

“Do you like them?” 

“I love them!” Jesse beams so bright Hanzo nearly sighs, thumbing some of the petals and waving him inside. “Let's put 'em in some water.” 

“Holy shit, those are pretty,” a voice remarks from the envelope of the ancient couch. Fareeha pops her head up, lifting a hand in greeting which Hanzo awkwardly returns. 

“Don't worry, she's not staying,” Jesse calls from the storage closet, emerging with a dusty vase. “Right, 'Ree?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The tall woman snorts, clambering up from the couch and into her boots. “I'll say hi to Mum for you.” 

“Yeah, you better!” Jesse grins and Hanzo follows him to the kitchen, almost bowled over by a wall of cooking scents. Pans simmer, plates are covered by cloth, and the one small window is steamed up. “I uh, fibbed a little about the dinner reservations, but I hope you'll enjoy your evening at Chez McCree. We may not have Michelin stars, but we always have leftovers!” 

Hanzo takes an extra second to find his words. “You cooked all this, for us?” 

Jesse nods, lifting the lid off the crock pot and seeming satisfied with what he sniffs. “Hope you brought your extra stomach.” 

Hanzo is grateful for the radio playing low on the windowsill, he can hardly speak between bites. The pork in the carne adovada is so tender, the chile burning perfectly on his tongue. Even the flatbread Jesse serves with it is rich and almost sweet. Almost everything he ate in his youth was prepared by chefs, and certainly no one's cooked for him since then. 

While Hanzo is quietly dying and ascending to food heaven, Jesse is happy to tell stories. Funny and harrowing ones from the vet clinic, or else tales from his and Genji's community college days. It is a bittersweet gift, to get to know who his brother was through someone else. 

“D'you still have room?” Jesse returns from the fridge with a plastic container holding two slender slices of double fudge cake. “I saw you eyeing these at the supermarket. Can't have a holiday without sweets.” 

It's a good thing the red wine Jesse poured- 'to class things up a little' -isn't near enough to get him drunk, or else Hanzo might propose marriage. 

They wash the dishes with loosened belts, Jesse shifting from foot to foot until he finally stops and rubs his lower back with a hiss, metal hand gripping the counter. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah, just-” Jesse blows out a slow breath. “Think I lifted a pig the wrong way today. I should've known when I felt it twinge.” 

“How large was the pig?” 

“Well, the owners said he was a potbelly, but they damn well got lied to,” Jesse chuckles, jaw and posture still tight as he rinses some cutlery. “Plus he was wigglin'.” 

“Go lay down,” Hanzo insists, prompting a sideways glance from Jesse. “I'll finish up and come rub your back.” 

Jesse's full lips curl on another sheepish smile. “Aw, 'darlin, you don't have to.” 

Hanzo most certainly does. Feeling the tension beneath Jesse's exposed skin makes him frown, and he does his best to rub it out without hurting him further. His calves spasm if he stands or walks too long, and the line between tolerable and agonizing is very thin. He works over the rough and soft swathes of Jesse's skin, mapping his freckles and scars, feeling him breathe. When his hands tire at last, he settles against Jesse's side, brushing his fingers over the nape of his neck. 

Jesse says something Hanzo doesn't catch, turning to grin lazily at him. “I said you're spoiling me, honey.” 

Hanzo smiles back, sweeping Jesse's long, sun-loved brown hair away from his eyes. “I'm only showing you what you deserve.” 

Genji slides a brown paper bag towards him while they finish cleaning up after the open house, everyone else already gone home. Even Jack, dragged away from 'answering a couple more emails' by Gabriel, on his rare day off. “These are gonna expire soon, better use them up fast.” 

“What- oh, for god's sakes.” Hanzo shoves the condoms back at him and continues roughly scrubbing cake bits off the counter. 

Genji cackles, firing empty pop cans into the recycling like skeeballs. “Hey, free is free, right?” 

“Piss off.” 

“What, are you two barebacking already?” Genji whistles to himself when Hanzo refuses to answer. “Now that's commitment.” 

“We're not fucking,” Hanzo growls back, feeling the hot rush down his spine. He's already been so diminished in his brother's eyes, even one more lost ounce of respect stings. 

“Oh, are you ace?” Genji's bright eyes remain unchanged when Hanzo nods. “Cool. I knew Jesse was, but I wasn't sure about you.” 

“Ah.” Hanzo wets his lips, scrubbing in neat, rhythmic lines. “You're not surprised, then?” 

He's not really sure what he's asking, or what answers he expects. For his part, Genji just shrugs, illustrating his words with gestures. “Everything's a spectrum. I'm like, the horniest person I know, so therefore if I exist, someone like you must exist too. Together, we keep the world in balance.” 

Hanzo is relieved in a way that won't fully register until later. “You're absurd.” 

Genji laughs and the air feels a little lighter. “Sucks that I'm not getting any, though. Can we trade libidos for a bit?” 

Hanzo snorts. “Zenyatta's gone away again?” 

“No? I got a needlestick injury on Monday, remember?” Genji pulls a face when Hanzo's expression shifts. “Did Jack not copy you on that incident report?” 

Nothing sours a day quite like an explosive argument with your sibling who is also your coworker. Yes, sincerely, the last thing he had wanted to do was fumble for the new security code while snarling _'No, I am not trying to fucking parent you, for god's sake!'_ But here he is, churning in the same position on the couch he was when he got home an hour ago, cycling mindlessly between the same three apps while the laundry sits undone and his dinner unmade. A text dings in and he takes three measured breaths before reading it. 

**JM:** Hey hon, I know it's getting a little late, but I'm in the neighbourhood, want me to pop up for a bit? 

If Hanzo were a smarter, better man, he would have said no, should have said no. But he turned him down last week and he doesn't want Jesse to get the wrong idea. This shouldn't be difficult. 

After several lethargic attempts at conversation, Hanzo can no longer bear Jesse sitting at the other end of the couch, wasting his time. But his scent is too much, the bald yellow lighting in his apartment is too much, everything is too much. He twitches up. “I'm getting a drink, do you want one?” 

“Well, maybe just a little nip.” Jesse hums, not directly pointing out it's a weeknight. Hanzo used to drink on work nights all the time, though he hasn't lately. He's been too busy. But he still has half a bottle left. Jesse shuffles in on sock feet as he pours. “Oh, I got something for you. Kid left it at work and never came back for it.” 

Jesse sets a blue fidget cube beside the sink. Hanzo pauses, picks it up, finding that some of the buttons produce a satisfying click when pressed. “Don't worry, I sanitized it completely.” 

Genji must have told him, in conversation about their childhoods, perhaps. The older brother who used him as a social shield when his script ran out, who lined up their action figures instead of playing with them, who is on the verge of shutdown after a singular fight- 

Jesse shifts expectantly, and Hanzo knows he's been gone somewhere else too long. He sets the bottle down with a clunk. “You should go.” 

“Han, it's-” 

“Please.” Hanzo almost snaps, flinching when Jesse reaches for his shoulder as if spikes would emerge from his skin to protect him. “I don't want to just- use you.” 

He drinks down the glass he had poured in one gulp, letting it burn all the way down, his eyes shutting. He's no better than a child. 

“Honey, I've been used. That ain't what this is.” Jesse huffs a clipped laugh, not stepping back but not drawing any closer either. “I wouldn't be here, trust me, I'm too old for that shit.” 

Hanzo doesn't know what to say anymore. He doesn't know why Jesse is here at all, what he wants from him, or what he should do right now. 

Slowly, deliberately, Jesse's hand finds his waist. “Hey, how about a hot shower, hm?” 

His mouth moves separately from the noise in his brain. “With you?” 

A small, unassuming smile lights up his peripheral vision. “Sure, if you want.” 

Hanzo's stall shower is not overly spacious, their bodies bumping against the ice-cold tile. But the water is steaming and he's too out of it to worry about the horizontal scars on his hips. Jesse holds out his hand for a squirt of shampoo, only to work it into Hanzo's scalp. He clings shamelessly, toes curling as gentle fingers massage his scalp. 

“You don't have to,” Jesse murmurs as Hanzo flips his rinsed hair back and squirts the shampoo into his own hand. 

“No, it's only fair,” Hanzo tuts, reaching up to lather Jesse's thick hair. His cowboy feigns a purr and Hanzo manages to snicker. 

They kiss messily, relishing the slide of slick hairy bodies, the casual, fearless intimacy of it. They wash each other with a tenderness that keeps Hanzo's eyes low, Jesse's lips resting against his temple. Hands sliding between their legs, curving against thick thighs, tracing the ink that swirls beneath skin. As their soaked beards catch, Hanzo wishes to dissolve into this moment, to know nothing else but the feeling of Jesse all around him. 

They lay abed in towels that eventually get tugged away and dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Jesse is coaxed to lay on top of him, cheek resting on his chest, the alley light painting pale lines across his body. “You have to work, don't you?” 

“Mhmm, I'll just get up a little earlier,” Jesse yawns, settling comfortably against him. “Y're so warm.” 

Tracing fingers up and down a now-familiar back, mind sluggish and senses awash in comfort, Hanzo soon drops off as well. 

He wakes around five, the sky still dark. Slipping away from Jesse, curled on his side and softly snoring, he hauls on some boxers and follows the glow of his phone to the small living room. A long text from Genji last night, apologizing for things getting so heated without backing down on Hanzo's need to dial it back. Hanzo moves through his morning calisthenics routine before answering, his body sweeping from one stretch into another, reaching for his toes and slowly warming up his calves for another day. 

**HS:** I apologize for shouting. I could have chosen my words better, but you did drop some very upsetting news on me. How was I supposed to react? 

The kettle clicks to life and begins to bubble while Hanzo doubles the rice and turns on the cooker. In one of his chipped soup bowls, he mixes eggs and sugar, his stomach growling impatiently. 

**GS:** Ok fair, but I don't see it as that upsetting. This is my second or third injury since I graduated, it's a hazard of the job. I'm on PEP and I've got tests scheduled, there's nothing else to do but wait. 

**HS:** I don't know that I could be as calm as you are about it. Also, sorry if I woke you. 

**GS:** I mean, worst case scenario is I end up living my best virally suppressed life like Reinhardt. I wouldn't be delighted to go on a bunch of meds, obvs, but that's life sometimes. I know you're worried, but give me some credit ok? I know how to handle things like this. Freaking out doesn't help anything. 

Hanzo pours a layer of egg into a small, rectangular pan, grilling it until it can be rolled and folded neatly over itself. After doing the same with the rest of the egg, he takes it off the hot element but leaves the tamagoyaki in the pan until the rice cooker dings. 

**GS:** And lol, I was already up. Me and Zen usually do yoga before bfast but someone's being a sleepyhead. 

A photo is attached of Zen's shaved head peeping out from what looks like several layers of pastel blankets, dotted with heart and crying emojis. 

**GS:** Fuck he's so cute TT_TT 

**HS:** Fair enough. I don't doubt your capabilities, I just can't take threats to your health lightly. I don't want you to be anxious, but, I don't know. Nevermind. You're healthier than I am, at least. 

He halves the cooked rice, laying the tamagoyaki on top and finally taking a sip of his sufficiently cooled green tea. Coffee in the morning never sits right on his tongue or his stomach, but his usual perks him up enough to be functional in time for work. He uses a glass pot lid to cover Jesse's, not wanting to wake him just yet. 

**GS:** I know what you mean, it's okay. We're probably always going to set each other off lol, but the fact we're apologizing at all is progress, I think 

**GS:** Also don't drag yourself too hard, we're both doing way better than before. A partner is no substitute for a harm reduction plan, but mine have helped a lot to lead me away from my worst habits. I couldn't have gotten where I am rn alone. 

A loud yawn and the shuffle of feet draw his attention. Into the dim electric light of the kitchen stumbles Jesse, eyes half-open and hair dotted with cowlicks, long enough now to brush his shoulders and somehow even handsomer for being unbrushed. Lines from the rumpled sheets race across the curves of his body. His prosthetic still on the extra charger in the bedroom, Hanzo can make out the remains of a tattoo above the metal port. Tight grey briefs hug his hips, outlining the thumb of his cock. The very sight of him is nourishment to Hanzo's eyes, real and masculine and beautiful. “Uh, good morning?” 

“Good morning.” Hanzo blinks. “Sorry, it's hard not to stare.” 

“Oh, pfft.” Jesse shakes his head, glancing off and smiling, pointing at the covered plate. “Is that for me?” 

“Yes, I hope you have enough time to eat.” 

“'Course I do.” Jesse grins and digs in, settling in across the small table Hanzo mostly uses for his laptop. He had only bought a second folding chair recently, embarrassed by the bachelor state of his flat. “Mm, thanks sugar. Tastes a lot better than what they have at the coffee shop.” 

Hanzo nods, picking at his own food and watching Jesse discreetly for a stretch. “I would- understand if you'd rather not come back, after last night.” 

Jesse arches an eyebrow, scarcely pausing his chewing. “Gonna take a lot more'n that to scare me off.” 

“Why?” Hanzo asks, trying to shape the words honestly in his mouth, before they land too sharply. “I mean, why did you ask me out? I'm not fishing for compliments, I get tired of myself most of the time.” 

Previous partners found him attractive- but if that isn't the draw, what's left? How long can he get away with calling Jesse his own? 

“You're not as bad as you think you are.” Something in Jesse's low voice prompts Hanzo to look up and find his gentle smile, his brown eyes turned thoughtful. “I meant what I said, you're a better drinking buddy than most guys I've met. You're interesting, and I like having you around.” Jesse's fingers twitch up reflexively, for the smokes that aren't there. “Plus, it's nice to be with someone who gives a shit about _me,_ and not just what they can get from me. Makes me feel all special, y'know?” 

Hanzo can hear the pang of truth behind the humour and aloof charm. And yet the void yawns within him, strangling his tongue. “But is it enough?” 

“It is for me.” Jesse shrugs, sliding his fork across the empty plate and standing. He loosely cups the back of Hanzo's neck, where his hair lays tangled, and presses a sweet, chapped kiss to his brow. “I better get goin' soon.” 

“Wait.” Hanzo stands when Jesse comes back from the sink, taking his jaw in both hands and kissing him as if it could all be true. As if he can be loved for the man he is and doesn't need to fear the crash of the swell rising inside him. It's too early, too naive, but he loves every part of Jesse, from his wispy eyelashes to the stale taste of his morning breath to the aches in his soul. He feels more than he can put words to, more than he's ever let himself feel, and he needs Jesse to know just how special he is. 

The cowboy looks a bit glazed when they part, Hanzo's rough knuckles skimming across his ruddy cheek as he lifts one finger. “Can I get one more of those for the road?” 

Hanzo laughs and obliges him, the heat of Jesse's arm sliding snug across his back. Once praised for being cruel and cold, his covetous nature is all that remains. He will not relinquish this undeserved second chance. 

**GS:** Speaking of- it's nice to see you smiling for a change. Tell Jesse I say hi ^^

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fourth rewrite of this idea and I just wanted to put it to bed/get some ace feelings out through my favourite outlet. I chose the setting because I saw some folks talking about giving their jobs to characters in modern AU fics, which is cute IMO! My role and workplace aren't all that similar to Hanzo's, but I wanted to put some non-profit rep out there for no particular reason.   
> I hope you enjoyed this semi-angsty adventure! I also hope the fluff brought you a little comfort and a smile to your face during these crazy times. Much love to everyone and stay safe <3!


End file.
